


Sedated & Caffeinated

by squidnapped



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Infidelity, M/M, Men With Emotional Issues, Men With Hygiene Issues, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidnapped/pseuds/squidnapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor visits Michael's house after deciding to get a coffee enema.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sedated & Caffeinated

Michael de Santa was awoken by a series of loud erratic knocks on his front door. The slant of the light streaming in from the kitchen window told him it was late afternoon. He couldn’t remember falling asleep here—he must have started drinking right after he woke up this morning. A new low. Blearily he set down the empty whiskey tumblr loosely clutched in his left hand and trudged to the front door. He saw the unmistakable outline of Trevor shifting nervously from side to side through the stained glass. Heaving a sigh, he cracked the door and said “What,” with the resigned finality of a statement rather than a question.

“Mikey! Hey buddy. So glad to see you. Don’t tell me I woke you up? Sleeping in now that the family’s out of the house? It’s really a beautiful day outside, you should do some yoga or some tennis or something,” Trevor babbled, somehow managing to slink through the tiny crack Michael had allowed at the door. His body language was nervous, jittery even, and he talked constantly as he practically vibrated down the hall to the living room. Wearily, Michael followed. 

“Alright Trev, make it quick. I have a hangover trying to work its way out of my eyeballs and I am not in the mood.” 

“Okay sure, buddy, sure sure,” Trevor said, guiding Michael down onto the sofa by his shoulders. “You just sit there and get comfortable, I gotta talk to you for a minute, won’t take long. Here, have another sip, take the edge off,” he said, darting to the bar cart and grabbing a bottle of scotch to push into Michael’s hands. “Hair of the dog and all that, heh.” 

He stood there watching and wringing his hands in a manner recalling a cartoon villain while Michael sighed and shrugged and took a hearty swig. Today was pretty much already in the toilet, he thought, so he might as well keep it going. When he looked back at Trevor his yellow eyes seemed to be glowing in the late afternoon light. 

“Fuck me,” Trevor grinned.

“Yeah, fuck me, too, buddy,” Michael sighed, rubbing his temples. He toasted what he took to be Trevor’s statement of resignation and took another swig.

“No, Michael,” Trevor growled, his voice lowering an octave. “I want you to fuck me.”

It took Herculean effort not to spit scotch out all over his multi-thousand dollar couch. “Do what now,” he sputtered, barely meeting Trevor’s eyes. 

“Oh come on, you drunk idiot” Trevor barked, having lost his still patience as fast as he’d gained it. “I want you to get your dick hard and put it in my ass and fuck me until you come. You need me to draw you a fucking picture?”

Michael squinted and his mouth fell open. “Uh.”

Trevor let out a kind of howl of exasperation and started ripping at his belt buckle. “Listen, okay? I just got one of those, what-do-you-call-it, coffee enemas—”

“So that’s why you’ve been pacing a hole in my carpet,” Michael accused, happy to be back in familiar griping territory. “I thought it was just the speed…”

“Yeah, no, it’s not always the speed you prick. I was bored downtown and I thought, why not give it a try? And I got one and now I’m all nice and clean and empty and really, really ready to go.” 

Having won the fight with his buckle, Trevor whipped off his belt and dropped his pants, kicking them into a corner. He turned around, bent over and spread his cheeks. “See?” he called from between his legs, “Clean as a fucking whistle.” 

Michael stared, his nose suddenly filling with a very nostalgic scent of Trevor, Trevor’s dick and ass, but carried on a heady coffee breeze. And Michael must have taken bigger swigs of that scotch than he thought, because goddamn if that dark puckered ring didn’t go and wink at him. It would be just like Trevor to teach his asshole to wink.

“Jesus, T,” he rasped, and then shook his head, trying to clear it of smells and memories and fucking winking assholes. “It’s been ten years—I thought you were over this shit.”

“UGH.” Trevor righted himself and turned to face him, now in much too close proximity to the couch and therefore Michael’s face. “Come on, Mikey, pleeeeeeeease?” Trevor whined, and started to jump up and down in place. He was like a kid wanting to go to Disneyland, with the important difference of a very mature and hairy but mercifully flaccid limp cock flopping up and down to brush the hem of his grubby Pisswasser tee with each bounce.

Trevor must have known that he’d won when Michael heaved a sigh and finished the rest of the scotch in one long swig. 

“Yeehaw!” he hollered and leapt to straddle Michael’s lap. “Now get that stupid polo off and show me them TITTIES!” Michael tried to look withering as he complied, but suspected it came off a bit blearier than intended. Trevor flashed him a wicked grin before bending down to suck, hard, on Michael’s left nipple.

“OW, fuck, Trevor!” Michael couldn’t help but laugh. “Nothing’s gonna come out of there, man. I got fat—I didn’t get pregnant.” Trevor snorted but kept at it, lathing and sucking the left while bringing his hand up to massage, squeeze, and slap the right. Meanwhile he was starting to rock his hips in Michael’s lap, grinding down against him, naked cock against zipper and buckle.

Michael couldn’t help it—Trevor’s mouth, his attention felt amazing. Since gaining weight, Amanda had wanted less and less to do with his body, taking care to touch as little of him as possible during their twice-monthly fucks. But Trevor had his face pressed into folds of skin that had never seen another’s affection, smelling and grunting and leaving spit trails on every part of his chest. Michael attempted to convey his gratitude by tracing his hands up Trevor’s skinny, hairy thighs and resting them on his ass, giving it a thorough, appreciative squeeze. It had been ten years but Michael could still remember T’s erogenous zones, and there were two in the shape of Michael’s hands right under Trevor’s tailbone.

“Fuck,” Trevor said, coming up for air. He had seen that expression before after Trevor had done a few lines of coke, head whipping up, eyes blazing and pupils blown. Trevor had his hands on Michael’s shoulders and was grinding his hardening cock against Michael’s own, Michael guiding him, urging him through each thrust with firm hands on his ass. “Fuckin A, Mikey,” he breathed, riding hard. “I’m having a sexual awakening here. Who knew I was a chub chaser?”

Michael laughed again, lightheaded and headache fading from the scotch. He brought his hands up to remove Trevor’s shirt, but the weasel slipped down through his grasp, between his legs and onto his knees. 

“Alright, let’s get off these faggy pants of yours.” Trevor nimbly popped the top button and started tugging off Michael’s chinos. Michael lifted his hips to help Trevor get them off over his ass, refraining from commenting on the irony of Trevor tugging off another man’s pants while calling him “faggy.” Or was that even irony?

“What the fuck are you talking about irons?” Trevor growled, balling up the slacks and tossing them over his shoulder. He took Michael’s half-hard cock into his right hand, and Michael realized hazily he must have said that last part out loud. 

“I was just—oh shit,” he broke off, as Trevor started to work him in earnest. It had been weeks, maybe a month since someone else had touched him. Meanwhile Trevor was staring at his hastily thickening cock, muttering obscene encouragements. 

“I think your cock got fatter too, Mikey. Lucky for me.” He flashed Michael a manic grin and pushed Michael’s left leg out and away, splaying Michael on the couch. Then he lifted Michael’s cock by the head and plunged his face beneath it, inhaling deeply in the hair and sweat between his dick and balls. He knew from past experience that Trevor liked it there the best because the smell, his smell, was the strongest, and he felt a shudder go through Trevor’s body as he held himself still and just inhaled. 

“God, M,” he breathed, and Michael’s cock twitched and jerked at the sensation of Trevor’s voice, his warm wet breath on his balls. “I wanna, fuck, I wanna fuck you right here you know? For old time’s sake.”

Michael’s stomach dropped and he let his head fall back, his mouth dry. 

“But no,” Trevor growled, jerking his head back and pumping Michael’s cock with renewed violence. “No no no no no, that’s not what I’m here to do. I’m here, to get fucked,” he said, punctuating his rambling with vicious twists on Michael’s dick, “by you, Michael fucking de fucking Townley, Santa Claus whatever, with the retirement home and the fat cock.”

And with that he made a growling noise and sank his mouth around Michael’s dick. “Oh, fuck, fuck T,” Michael said dumbly, his hips automatically bucking up to fuck Trevor’s mouth. Trevor laugh-hummed around him, a low and conceited “hur hur hur,” and pushed his hips down with firm, scarred hands. Sure, Trevor had nothing on Amanda when it came to pure blowjob skill—she had been a hooker after all—but what he lacked in trade secrets, he made up for in enthusiasm. Trevor sucked his dick like he was a glass of water after two weeks in the desert. He grunted and sucked and sniffed and wasn’t afraid to make it hurt in ways that Michael thought he had forgotten a long time ago. And if he kept going, Michael was gonna come.

He was having a fight with himself about whether or not to tell Trevor as much when Trevor took his cock out of his mouth with an obscene ‘pop.’ He was still stroking him lightly with his right hand, and his left hand had snaked up to fondle his balls, his thumb making small circles between them in a way that could easily undo him. Trevor was looking at him like a mangy wolf watching a rabbit, knowing he had his life in his grubby, bloody paws. 

“You stay here, lover,” he said mockingly. “I’ll go freshen up.”

Trevor sprang to his feet and darted around the corner and up the stairs three at a time. Michael just lay on the couch, drunk and trembling, listening to Trevor bang and curse and crash his way through the upstairs rooms. Then there was an ominous quiet, and when Michael opened his eyes again Trevor was already back. He must have drifted for a minute, because Trevor was already in the middle of preparing himself for the next part of their endeavor. 

Trevor was standing, bent over with one leg up on the ottoman and two fingers deep in his ass. He was cursing softly, his thick eyebrows screwed up in concentration and discomfort. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” he growled, twisting his body to try and get his knuckles deeper. 

“Come here,” Michael rasped, surprising himself with the trace amounts of tenderness in his voice.

“No,” Trevor commanded. “I got it, just stay there.” 

Michael steeled his loose, drunk muscles and pushed himself up off the couch. The spit on his cock had dried but he was still half-hard, bobbing against his leg. “You get a johnny?” he asked.

“In my wallet,” Trevor grunted, and jerked his head at the pile of pants in the corner. Michael walked over and fished out the ancient leather bifold, which had “Kiss Me I’m Jewish” enigmatically embroidered on the outside. He plucked out a condom and brought it back over to where Trevor was still working himself open. Michael picked up the bottle that Trevor had discarded on the ottoman.

“Lubriderm Daily Moisturizer… T, I think this is the stuff my wife uses on her feet.”

“ARRGH don’t talk about your fucking wife right now!” Trevor yelled. “It’s not my fault you are completely sexually dysfunctional and don’t have any fucking lube in this house! I even looked in Jimmy’s room, there was nothing! Does he not jerk off? Fuck. Bunch of sexual amateurs!”

“T, please don’t make me think about my son’s dick right now,” Michael said grimly, squirting some moisturizer onto his fingers. 

“Well you made me think about Amanda’s fucking feet,” Trevor muttered, his voice betraying more emotion than Michael thought he probably meant to. Amanda was, and always had been, a point of contention between them, for obvious reasons—the most obvious of which is that they stopped fucking soon after Michael and Amanda hooked up. “Don’t forget, I saw her strip too, Michael, and those feet were fucking weird. And she always insisted on doing it barefoot. Freaked me out.”

“I know, T,” Michael said almost gently, sliding Trevor’s fingers out of his ass and guiding him to the couch. Trevor allowed himself to be guided, keeping up the commentary. 

“Her big toe was too long, looked like it could wrap around the pole by itself. And her middle toes—webbed! I like it weird, man, but shit,” he muttered, placing his hands on the back of the couch and resting his knees on the seat cushions. 

Michael put one hand on Trevor’s back, still covered in that fucking T-shirt, and carefully inserted one lubed finger into Trevor’s ass. He felt Trevor jump, clenching his finger tight. “Shit, T, relax.”

“I AM RELAXED,” Trevor roared, his knuckles white on the couch. Michael said nothing, just kept massaging him from the inside out. His dick was twitching again, just feeling inside Trevor with his fingers. He’d had anal with Amanda only a few times during their marriage. She loved it, but something about it made him feel uncomfortable, and eventually she stopped pushing for it. He realized now with a start that it was because it made him miss this, miss Trevor under him, cursing and shying like a barely-broken horse. He slipped in another finger, felt Trevor pulse and relax. 

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, and couldn’t help himself from bending low and brushing his mouth on the low of Trevor’s back. He and T had a pretty strict no-kissing policy, back in the day. Kept things from getting too gay, whatever that meant. 

“Yeah well, there hasn’t been anybody in there but me, myself and my new coffee enema for the past ten years, so excuuuuuuse me for being a little rusty,” Trevor griped. 

Michael stilled, felt his throat go dry. “What?”

“Well I haven’t exactly been getting fucked ‘on the reg’, as they say. I do my share of fucking, don’t get me wrong, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head angrily.

“You mean to tell me, that nobody has been in here—in you—but me? In ten years?” Michael asked, his voice dropping an octave.

Trevor met his eyes over his shoulder, his face twisted with hate and desire. “No, Michael, I’m saying that no one has _ever_ been in me but you.” 

Michael slid his fingers out, not breaking the eye contact. “Get the rubber.”

Trevor pushed himself off the couch and retrieved the condom from the ottoman. 

“Put it on,” Michael growled, his still eyes trained on Trevor’s face. Trevor ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on Michael’s cock, which had engorged back to full hardness during the proceedings. Unwilling to meet Michael’s eyes now, his mouth set in grim determination, he turned around and resumed his position on the couch. 

“Come on, porkchop, I ain’t got all day,” Trevor said, but it came out weak, hollow. 

Michael silently arranged Trevor to his liking—pushed his head down, shoved his knees wider apart, tilted his hips up. Then he held his cock to Trevor’s still too-tight hole and pushed slowly in. “FUCK,” Trevor barked, then gritted his teeth to keep silent. Michael pushed slowly, slowly in until he couldn’t go any further, until he felt it might be unsafe for Trevor and then pushed a little more. Trevor was spasming around him, his head bent low between his arms. Michael brought his body low around Trevor, surrounded him, until he was touching him inside and out, touching more of Trevor than he probably ever had before. 

“That feel good, T?” he growled, and Trevor shivered. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Fuck you,” Trevor spat, and tried to buck away, but Michael held him fixed in place, his cock twitching deep in his ass. 

“Okay,” he said, and pulled out of Trevor only to savagely push back in, harder and faster than before. Trevor cursed and arched, feebly trying to twist out of Michael’s grasp but he was held tight between Michael and the sofa. Michael grabbed him, held him, chased him, fucked him up onto the back of the sofa. 

“This is what you wanted T, this is why you came?” he growled between thrusts, his knees now planted behind Trevor’s on the sofa so he had more purchase to fuck him. “You wanted me to fuck you, so I’m fucking you. I’m the only one who ever has, and if I can help it, I’m the only one who ever will.” 

Trevor growled and pushed off the back of the couch, arching himself into Michael’s chest while Michael fucked up into him.

“Say it again, T,” Michael commanded into Trevor’s neck, his hand ghosting down over Trevor’s hardening cock.

“Fuck you, M,” Trevor spat, impaling himself down to meet Michael’s thrusts. 

Michael bit his neck, hard, in retaliation.

“Alright fine, you fucking psycho, you’re the only one I ever let, will ever let fuck me. It was always only you.”

And with that Michael lost it, was moaning and fucking into him with possessive abandon. White light burst in his eyes as his orgasm was torn out of him. Dimly, he was aware of Trevor cursing him, clutching his forearms which were still wrapped around Trevor’s chest. 

“No, fuck! You old fucking man you can’t come now!” Trevor clawed his way out of Michael’s grasp, let Michael’s twitching cock slip out of his fucked-out asshole. He threw Michael down into a sitting position on the couch and slapped him, hard.

“Hey! This isn’t about you, you fucker! Now be a good boy and hold your cock up before it gets limp!” Alarmed into compliance, he held his cock upright while Trevor squatted over him, held onto Michael’s shoulders for balance and slowly impaled himself on Michael’s still-hard dick. He was fucking himself earnestly, feverishly, his brows furrowed in lust and frustration. Michael gazed dumbly into his face, and maybe it was the scotch and maybe it was the afterglow but he thought weirdly that he had maybe never had more affection for this glorious psychopath, rutting and cursing determinedly on his fading erection. 

Gingerly, absently he finally lifted Trevor’s shirt over his head. His eyes fell on Trevor’s shoulder, his tattoo gleaming on his sweat-slick skin. R.I.P. Michael.

He grasped the back of Trevor’s head with one hand and brought their mouths together, and Trevor actually slowed his rutting for the kiss. With his other hand he wrapped his hand around Trevor’s cock and began pumping in time with Trevor’s bounces. 

“Fuck,” Trevor muttered into Michael’s mouth, bucking against him. “Fuck.”

I know, baby, Michael said, or thought—he wasn’t really sure. 

* * *

Michael de Santa was awoken by a series of loud erratic crashes. The slant of the light streaming in from the living room window told him it was early morning. He was naked on the couch covered loosely with one of his wife’s overpriced throws. For a few seconds he entertained the thought that Trevor’s presence had been a bizarre dream, a product of sexual frustration and close-shave alcohol poisoning. Maybe the whole past few weeks was a dream, and that was Amanda doing yoga in the kitchen. Really loud, clangey and cursey yoga.

But then Trevor Philips rounded the corner, wearing nothing but an apron and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He clutched a frying pan in a way that spelled murder weapon, but that could have been Michael’s better judgement talking. And he detected a scent on the air, something heady and warm, waking him up to a new day...

“Well good morning merry sunshine,” Trevor said, grinning toothily. “You want some coffee?”


End file.
